


Girl with the Matchstick

by nagayasu



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arson, Burning down house, Chris Redfield as fireman, Dark Past, F/M, Firefighter Chris Redfield, Firefighters, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:02:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21887134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagayasu/pseuds/nagayasu
Summary: Captain Chris Redfield; handsome firefighter of Raccoon City. The department was always booming with stupid phonecalls but one day, there was a serious caller reporting a fire. The fireman immediately responded and went to the scene. That was where he met you, the sole survivor of the house fire.
Relationships: Chris Redfield & You, Chris Redfield/Reader, Chris Redfield/You
Comments: 5
Kudos: 34





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I tried my best to write AU's. I want my scope of writing RE characters to be bigger. I wanted them to live beyond the zombies and BOW's and here's Chris Redfield as a firefighter. I had no idea that firemen has the rank Captain. Seems like we can still address Chris as Captain here as well. Anyway, I hope you readers enjoy. I don't know how it is. Please feedback when if you can, so I know how it goes for my AU. Thanks a lot! <3

Scarlet embers reflected her orbs as she watched the inferno engulf the curtains in her room. The flames spread to the furniture, wood victualling the greedy fire. She watched as her surroundings burned in red. Everything dirty can finally be cleansed; she can finally rest.

*

Fireman, Captain Chris Redfield was sitting in the office, reviewing the report of previous month when part of the forest was caught on fire—him and his men were busy putting out the inferno and saving the hikers as well as animals. With his attractive looks, sometimes there would be calls from barefaced people asking Captain Redfield by name to put out their _fires_. It would be a joke amongst their colleagues and it’s good for a laugh or two, but sometimes Chris doesn’t like that it creates inconvenience if the line is being busied when there are people who actually needs help and couldn’t get through.

It actually happened when he was still a newbie—they were told to give a demonstration on how to prevent misconduct during a fire alarm and how to move in an orderly manner. A day later, some women called that there was a fire and Chris was in the office. He and his team had rushed to the place only to find that there wasn’t a fire; just a female in heat.

His colleagues were at the department’s kitchen, having their lunch when the phone rang. Chris was ready to receive those crazy calls but it wasn’t. The person in the other line sounded very distressed.

“Hello, sir. Please state your name, emergency, and location” he spoke as firmly as possible.

“Ray… Raymond! It’s… There’s a fire across my home! My neighbours!” the man was unable to speak properly and Chris could hear a female’s voice in the background in shock as well.

“The fire’s spreading!” a few other voices in the background.

“Ray, listen to me. I need you to tell me your location, NOW” Chris demanded for an address. “Se—seven…seventeenth at Chestnut Street” the man mumbled; his words were all over but somehow, he managed to tell the captain.

It didn’t take long for the fire department crew to get ready and they started to make their way to the said location. It was a big fire. Chris parked the fire engine by the hydrant and had his men to start putting out the fire.

“The family… the family…” an old lady was standing at the lawn of the blazing house. Chris attended to her and slowly led her off the area. “Is there anyone inside the house!?” his voice was loud. Some people nodded in response. It was a whole family, they answered.

“With a fire that big—they probably…” another resident nearby choked, thinking about the perished. Chris looked at the blinding red and something caught his eye. Through the window of the upstairs room, there was a moving silhouette. It was hard to see but the captain needed to confirm his suspicions. Should there be any chance that there was some survivor, Chris needed to take that chance.

Garbed in his fire gear, the man broke into the house and started rushing upstairs to the room. It was burning and he saw the charred bodies of the family members downstairs. Ignoring the gone, he went on to find the possible survivor. The ceiling fell, making it harder for the man to manoeuvre—he had to push a few burning debris aside in order to reach that room.

When he arrived, he saw someone lying on the floor—the body seemed unscathed. Without further ado, the fireman immediately covered the person with a fire blanket and carried them out of the place before they both are trapped inside. Leaving the place, Chris quickly placed her on the paramedic bed and started to check for pulse. Apparently, she was not breathing and her pulse was weak. He hurriedly tended to her and gave rescue breathing, checking every once in a while, if she started breathing again. Just when he was about to administer another set of the rescue breathing, the female started to cough violently and had jagged breaths. She tried to sit up to which the captain helped and adjusted the bed.

Her face was dirtied with ashes, her hair dishevelled. She looked at Chris with vacant eyes and the man noticed her dry lips, he went and grab a bottled water to give her. The weak hands reached out to quench her thirst but Chris helped by holding her chin upwards and tilting the bottle for her to drink. It didn’t take for long the bottle to be empty of water. A heavy sigh escaped her lips when she finished.

The fire was long extinguished when Captain Redfield was busy breathing life back into her. She stared at the burnt building that used to house her; that used to become a vessel that one mistaken as home. It was just a shelter to her—far be it from being a sanctuary. Chris stood by her, watching her expressionlessness. The man then noticed a matchstick firmly held in her hand. When Chris was about to ask, she drew back with intensity—not wanting to let go of the matchstick. The captain could only assume what had happened; that it was by accident on her part which caused the house to be burnt down.

“Hey—it’s okay” Chris said in a gentle tone. Her frown softened, and slowly, she handed the matchstick over to Chris. He inspected the stick and asked his colleague to bag it.

“It isn’t your fault” the man apologetically said, putting a hand over her knee. “What’s your name?” he then asked.

“(y/n)… my name’s (y/n)” her voice was small but it reached Chris’ ears.

“Well, (y/n)—we need to check if you’ve any injuries, is that alright?” she responded with a nod. A brief smile appeared on the captain’s lips. He was relieved that he managed to save her from the fire.

Chris stayed with (y/n) at the back of the fire ambulance, until they arrived the hospital. She insisted that he stayed by her side throughout the check-up, to which he gave in and stick around.

*

You were hospitalized. The nurses were surprised to find that there was a third degree burn by your left thigh to which they were treating. It probably happened when you stumbled while making your way out of the kitchen—having your thigh to be pressed against something burning hot. That was just what you thought—you couldn’t really remember when everything was on fire—red was all you saw.

Being in the hospital was tedious, but it was better than being in the house. You stared at food that was placed on the overbed table. Soup, boiled broccoli, mashed potatoes, and a few slices of kiwi. Dull.

Someone entered your room, to which you quickly recognized as your saviour. You found out that he was the captain of the fire department and admired his gallantry. “Hey, (y/n)” softly, he greeted you and took a seat by your ward.

You wondered how can a person can have such a fierce yet gentle features. His eyebrows define intensity but his eyes carried forth tenderness, as well as his smile. If you knew that the captain of the fire department was such a charming man, you would’ve started the fire long ago.

The man caught your attention by clicking his tongue. “Not eating?” he questioned, gesturing over the food. You sighed, looking at the food and at him, then shook your head. “You must eat” the captain stated in a definite manner. If he wants to, then you should get something in return.

“Tell me your name” your order earned yourself a puzzled captain. His head was tilted to one side and his brow lifted in question. “Will you eat if I tell you?” you nodded.

“Chris Redfield” he told you and folded his arms as he leaned against the chair. He then motioned his brows, signalling for you to keep your word, to start eating. You obliged, stuffing the hospital food into your mouth as if it were a huge burden.

“That sucks. What do you want?” Chris spoke after seeing you eat in such a distasteful manner. He was standing by your ward now, his question still hanging in mid-air.

“Burgers and fries. And all the unhealthy shit” the man chuckled. It tugged you in your deepest parts. “I like the way you think. Give me some time to grab them, aight?” Chris winked at you and left the room.

The hospital food was left—like the proverbial cheese, it stands alone. The nurse came in and looked at the condition of the food; hardly touched. She gave a few comments on how you should start eating, or else, but you couldn’t be too bothered to actually listen. She left after writing a few things on the pad and once again, you were alone in the room.

Chris Redfield arrived half an hour later with two Burger King paper bags. You lit up at the sight of the food. Chris placed it on the overbed table and pulled the chair closer for him to dine with you.

“TRIPLE STACKER!?” you were delighted upon seeing what he had ordered. “Bet you’re famished, huh?” the man said upon seeing you chomping down the burger as if you haven’t eaten in forever.


	2. Behind the Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the flashback prior to the fire. This takes a dark turn. Please skip this chapter if you feel uncomfortable. There's mentions of rape and dehumanization in this one.

Fear was all you knew. Fear was all your mother and sister knew. Your mother remarried after your father left—to a man that sucked her life. Your mother would work three different jobs while the pig of your stepfather sits at home and give vulgar comments whatever sports they had on the television.

“What you’re looking at, bitch?” he hissed, noticing your glare. You said nothing in response as you cleaned the beer cans that were all over the living room. You would fight with your mother at times when the man wasn’t home—asking her to leave him, to divorce him; but she seemed fearful of what he could do.

“He’s just a man, mom! What can he do!?” you would shout and the both of you will be fighting while your younger sister would quietly do her work in the kitchen. The man would bring home his friends over and even openly abused your mother in front of them. You did get beaten up for being a smart mouth once, but your mother protected you. Honestly, you didn’t need it; you didn’t need protection from a woman who’s too scared to walk away from something. If only she left him, none of you would’ve gone through that shit daily.

After your fights, your mother would come to your room at night, putting both you and your sister to sleep. You were too old to be put to bed, but it was the time of the day where she can be close to her daughters after hours of overworking. She looked older than her age with the constant ridicule from the pig of a man, to be overworking, to sustain the family. “I’m sorry” your mother would apologize while stroking your hair and you’d say nothing in response. Words bring no meaning for a woman who refuses to leave the man.

“I can’t just _leave_ him” she shrugged. Your sister would sit at her bed, ready to listen to whatever story your mother would have to tell you regarding her work. Sometimes there’d be stories of interesting or funny customers—and all of you would laugh or provide comments on people’s idiosyncrasies. Then, your stepfather would shout for your mother; putting a damper on things.

You were cleaning the house one day, when your stepfather had his friends over to watch the game. The floor was dirty like fuck, full of cigarette ashes and spilled alcohol. Despite your hatred for him, you still felt obligated to do your duties. It is _his_ house after all. Maybe that was why your mother settled. For a stupid roof over your head. Your family would probably be happier having a bridge as a roof.

Blinding pain was felt over your shoulder where your bare skin was exposed. That was when you realized that your stepfather had pressed his cigarette butt against your shoulder. You screamed in pain, giving quick pats on the skin as you withdrew.

What’s worse? His friends joined in. One of them had held your arms and you couldn’t remember how many cigarettes were put out on your skin that day. It stung when the water ran through your skin as you showered.

One thing you’ve never mentioned to your family was that particular day. Your mother was out for work as usual and your sister went out with her friends. Bless her friends for being so kind towards her; taking her out to the fun fair to blow of steam after the big exams. That was before your sister was supposed to go to college. Now, college is just a distant dream.

You were alone at home and was doing the cleaning in the laundry room when you heard that your stepfather had invited his friends over. You heard their footsteps approaching the room. No fucks were given but god, you should’ve paid better attention when you saw his two friends passed him the money and had the door locked behind them. You were too immersed in resentment to realize what was about to take place. Once they were done raping you, you were left like nothing—sore and naked. Swallowing the pit in your stomach and in your throat, you wore your clothes and went to get the plan B pill to prevent pregnancy. Things went on like nothing; you felt that your value as a human had diminished. But you persevered—you stayed despite wanting to leave so much. There was your mother and your _sister_. Your sister.

There was only so much a person can take; that you can take. There were plenty of part-time jobs that were offered in your area and you took as much as you can; to help support your mother, and to avoid your stepfather. In fact, you made quite good money from a job well-done—enough to get a caravan. Maybe your mother would finally leave him and the three of you could live on a moving house. Sounds fun.

But that was the _mistake_ ; getting part-time jobs are to avoid him, which meant leaving your sister alone in the house, _unguarded_ and _defenceless_ ,…

You arrived home early after one of your part-time jobs. Your employer was very proud of how hardworking you were and even gave you a bonus. The door opened to reveal an orgy party with your younger sister at the centre of it. There was an earthy scent which is probably marijuana. Not that you were anything against it, but you just couldn’t believe what was going on. They’ve drugged your sister into giving them sex. You were enraged, stomped into the space and dragged your sister out of the living room. She was clearly drugged by how she looked.

You couldn’t take this anymore. Apparently, there was a line and it was crossed with insolence, with disrespect. Looking after your sister, you started to think of how long have this went on? How long had she been their sex slave? You will not allow this to happen anymore. You had to do something—to save what’s left of your family’s dignity as humans.

You went on with a simple plan. Fire. That was all. If was your mother’s off day and it made things easier for you to free them of their suffering. Nobody cared what you did in the house—so walking into the kitchen and having to leak the gas wasn’t much of a problem. The people in the house were too occupied to notice that the carpet was wet with gasoline—not water. Your stepfather was about to sit on his couch…the one that you had wet with flammable ether. Considering his heavy drinking, it was normal for the seat to be drenched in alcohol.

“What the fuck are you looking at, whore!?” he shouted and later spat on the floor. “What are you doing with the match, sicko?” his friend asked, noticing the matchbox in your hand. You smiled at them, a rare sight to behold. “Nothing…” you trailed off answer, taking out a matchstick and ignited it by striking the red end at the side of the box.

“Just decided to start smoking…” you finished before throwing the lit match into the kitchen. It took a second for the whole kitchen to be engulfed in flames.

“Fucking… bitch!” they shouted, ready to lunge at you but you’ve already passed the wet carpet and another lit match in your hand. You saw your mother holding your sister—her eyes reflected a sense of understanding as to why. A small smile was on her lips as her grip on your sister grew tighter. She said something, which you couldn’t hear but you knew.

_I love you_.

“You monster! You’re going to burn us all!” he screamed.

“Why am I the monster when you were the one that made me into one?” you asked.

Before your stepfather and his friend could move forward, you dropped the matchstick on the ground—creating more fire. It didn’t take long for the whole house to be caught on fire since you’ve laced the whole place with flammables.

You walked through the inferno, feeling the burning heat against your skin. Unlike the heat from the cigarette butts, this didn’t scare you. This blaze brought you peace. You shut your eyes as you listened to the wails of your father and his friend. You stood in your room and watched the fire before lighting up the last matchstick.

Unfortunately, it extinguished the small fire before you could drop it. Something had extinguished it. You wiped your face and noticed your tears. Why were you crying? Was there regret? Or was it guilt?

Your lungs gave in, your oxygen supply was lessening with all the carbon monoxide in the air. You fell onto the ground, unconscious.

*


	3. Tending the Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, I planned on writing about an arsonist reader... I had mapped everything I needed for the story but it requires a lot of commitment and long chapters; Longer than Killing Two Birds and I worry I'm not up to it and leaving incomplete stories. So, I shortened it to three chapters and tried to write it as nice as possible. I do hope you guys enjoyed the story. :D

“(y/n)! (y/n)!” Chris was forcing you to wake. The bed was drenched in your sweat. The reality was taking over your dreams, making it harder to sleep. Some nights you managed to rest—and some other nights was dreaming of the fire you caused.

Chris ran his fingers through your hair as he held you in his arms. The captain opened his doors for you to live with him and at first, you refused but he wouldn’t take no as an answer. You expected the handsome man to be married. Imagine your surprise upon finding out that he is single. Chris let you take the extra bedroom and tried his best to make it as homely as possible for you to live in. You appreciated the gesture but was unsure on how to react. Having to be treated so badly in the past, a simple kind gesture feels like luxury when it should’ve been a human right.

“Are you alright?” he pressed his forehead against yours. His steady breathing against your face allowed you to follow suit and calm your racing heart. “I’m okay… Just…” you paused, biting your lips. “Nightmares?” Chris questioned, rubbing your arm. He had noticed the cigarette butt scars on your shoulders but felt that he wasn’t in the place to ask. Something about you that he was dying to know. One thing he knew was that you aren’t dangerous.

“No—not really” your eyebrows creased, trying to see through the darkness of the room. “You’re sweating so much” Chris said in worry. You reached out to feel his mandible and stroked his cheek. His scruff scratched your fingers, making you let out a small chuckle. You had been living with Chris for months now, but there was still a distance between the both of you. There are things you didn’t know about him and of course, _things_ he didn’t know about you.

“I’m sorry. I’ll clean the bedsheets in the morning” you stated, trying to get up but Chris was having a tight hold on you. “You can sleep with me if it can help you rest better” the man said, after a moment of silence. You laughed.

“Is this your way of asking me to have sex with you, Redfield?”

His body shook when he laughed. “I’m serious” he said in between laughs. “Okay” you whispered and the man scooped you off the bed, carrying you to his room. He gently set you down and joined you in the bed. Sleep came easy as you were resting in his arms; your safe haven.

*

The complete file for (y/n)’s house fire had finally arrived Captain Redfield’s office. He gets to review it before placing it into the system for further checks. His initial evaluation was an incident gone wrong but having to know (y/n) better by living with her, Chris wanted to know more of the fire. It must’ve been pretty fucked up to have someone press cigarette butts on your skin.

Chris scrutinized every single detail that was inside the file. The report ruled the fire that happened as staged—that it wasn’t an accident. His brows furrowed as he carefully looked through, afraid that he might’ve missed some points.

_The fire is staged; traces of accelerants found inside the house. Gasoline and ether were being used. Remain of matchstick found as a source of fire. No accelerants found in kitchen; possible event of gas leaking to create fire._

Chris pinched the bridge of his nose and leaned against his chair. The report hasn’t list out any suspects to the fire and (y/n) will be under the consideration of a victim until further investigations take place. He heaved the heaviest sigh ever, remembering that (y/n) was tightly holding onto a matchstick when he found her. Chris Redfield was battling with himself. There was only one possible conclusion: _(y/n) had started the fire_.

*

You greeted Chris the moment he entered the living space. A beam plastered across your face, but a sad smile was his response.

“Chris… what’s going on?” you asked, putting aside the plates and reached out to him. Chris held your shoulder and gestured that you both talk at the living room. You noticed the file in his hand and your heart felt heavy.

He sat across you and handed the file over for you to look through. After you did, you placed it on the table and took a deep breath—mentally preparing yourself.

“There weren’t any suspects _yet_ —but I remember your matchstick. You started the fire. Why?” Chris asked in the calmest way. You knew it wasn’t easy for him to address the situation; it was going to come eventually and you were glad that it was Chris Redfield instead of someone else. Rather than answering his question, you took off your shirt; showing him more scars from the cigarette butts…and scars from the violence you had absorbed from your stepfather and his friends.

Chris closed his eyes, unable to take it in any further and it was a sign for you to put your shirt back on. You sat back down and started talking. “I’ve a sister and a mother—my mother was married to some fucked up dude” there was a wedge on your throat. It was getting harder to breathe but you needed to pull through. You needed to tell him.

“The man tortured us. You saw the scars. That was just the tip” your voice was cracking. Tears started to spill uncontrollably. Chris maintained his expression—trying to keep a clear mind in consideration of your case. “They raped me! They used my body for money against my will…” you didn’t even try to wipe off your tears. “My mother and sister didn’t know… and I still stuck around. We weren’t even treated like humans” Chris looked down, avoiding your gaze.

“Having them to rape my sister while she’s intoxicated was the last straw. I started the fire…” it was getting hard to talk now. You breathed in before continuing. “I started the fire to free us. To retain whatever’s left of our worth” you admit you sounded prideful. Like lions eating their young if they died, rather than to have their carcass to be eaten by hyenas. But it wasn’t really like that. You couldn’t take the dehumanization of your mother and your sister any longer.

You stopped, finally wiping your tears. “Do what you need to do. Take me to the authorities. Do your job” you ordered the captain. Chris stood and looked at you with an unreadable expression.

“I won’t bring you to the authorities” Chris said, his voice sincere. You started crying again.

“WHY!? WHY WON’T YOU!?” you hit his chest repeatedly. The man didn’t budge, didn’t push you away—instead, he pulled you into a tight embrace.

“You did what you _had_ to… and that is beyond law and jurisdiction to understand” Chris said, looking down at you. His nose and forehead pressed against yours. There wasn’t pity in his eyes—there was empathy; Chris understood the reasons and your intentions, and that you meant no harm in survival. People in war would do the same thing… the sacrifices made in killing a small number in saving a bigger population. In a small picture, you would be viewed as a killer, but in a bigger picture, you were just enduring. So, no; Chris Redfield wouldn’t bring you to the authorities only for the court to rule your punishment. It wasn’t what you deserved.

Chris held you tighter, his lips brushing against yours and slowly pulled you into a kiss. Your tears ran down his skin and he could tell that your tears now were different than they were moments ago. You closed your eyes as you kissed Chris. The weight slowly lifted off you… having to tell the truth to him had set you free. You were glad that Chris Redfield had found you and it meant for a new start.


End file.
